The Dancing Threshold

A Message Carried by the Wind

Hello Beautiful Souls, I am humbled we have gathered again with our warm flasks and our hope of Spring. Let us tread quietly and listen to the whispers of what is to come.

The sun breathes softly across the room, it hovers in dark corners transforming them to light and as the old pine tree sways outside, the sun gently moves with it, casting a soothing energy across my face.

It is half past seven in the morning, and the calmness has come after the storm. Last night when all was dark, cold rain and high winds whipped around my cottage, battling against the windows and thundering on the roof. As I warm my hands on my mug, I think of the Robin, who sings so exuberantly outside my window. Where was he during the wildness of the night? Where was he when winter hovered like an unwanted guest who has outstayed their welcome?

I open my front door to scatter seed upon the path and as the Robin swoops down at my feet, I feel the freshly, cleansed air. I see last night’s rain formed in puddles and I watch the ripples as the cold breeze travels past, moving my hair and making me pull my long cardigan close. As I close the door, I see the Crocuses swaying in the wintry breeze, their resilience a message of brighter days to come.

We find ourselves, in a shifting, shaping and transitional time. We stand at a dancing threshold; we see the soft footsteps of spring, nature’s magic of buds unfurling and feel the first warming rays of the sun and yet as we turn our faces towards the light, the retreating figure of winter turns once more to look upon us, to scatter us, to send cold, buffeting winds and fierce downpours of rain.

I pull on my thick coat and woolly hat. They hang next to my lighter jacket and my yellow, cotton scarf, waiting patiently for the warmer days that beckon beyond the Winter, Spring threshold, beyond the icy winds and the primroses that bravely hold on. As I button up my coat and adjust my wool scarf, I know their time will come.

Today I walk the opposite way from the churchyard and my allotment. My hens, who live at my plot wake with the light. They have been pottering in their run for over an hour now as the gift of daylight stretches out longer each day, journeying towards the Spring Equinox with a pace that quickens each gentle sunrise. Falling on the twentieth of March, the balance between night and day moves ever closer and Winter will release his grip with a humble surrender to what must be.

I take a local path, cutting through alongside two old cottages, noticing the fresh grass growing through the gaps of the paving slabs, still damp from the recent rain. Reaching a gate, I quietly pass through it and here my walk takes me upwards where I know at the top, I will be rewarded with a breathtaking view.

Tucking my hands deeper into my pockets I allow myself to come out of thinking and into feeling as my footsteps ground into the soft earth and my face looks up towards the sun. I sense both Winter and Springs presence on this hill, the two seasons intertwined within the wind, the earth and the ancient hilltop itself.

As I walk, I reflect upon my journey to live a slower life. After multiple burnouts with teaching full- time I know I craved what I could not feel and see. The breeze, the open space, the vastness of the sky. Unless I have access to nature I fade, like a flower who wilts in unfertile soil, unable to breathe and be well. This is why I am drawn to wild places, where time is told through the seasons, through the return of the swallows and the flow of a river to the sea.

Taking the last few steps, I reach the flat expanse of the hill where I pause to catch my breath before finding stillness to gaze over the landscape before me. Villages nestle, woodland trees gather and a stream gurgles at the foot of the hill. Taking out my flask from my rucksack, I sit on a nearby fallen log and taking a sip of tea I silently wait.

I do not have to wait for long.

Emerging from beyond the edge of the hill and racing across the flat expanse of the land beneath me, I see her clearly. Feel her energy, the mystical power. Sitting upright to keep her in view, I see another, getting closer, paws grounding into the earth, gaining distance by the second.

Two Hares.

I gently stand for a better view and see the first Hare turn direction and circle around the second. A display of pure brilliance follows as the female stands on her hind legs and prepares to box, sending a clear message to the male with her dancing long legs and her graceful paws.

This sight, a dancing cycle that happens early Spring is a gift beyond any words. As I watch the male submit graciously, they both suddenly run, their powerful legs becoming small dots on the landscape, leaving only a trail of dust within the morning sun.

Sitting down, I feel strangely alone. The dust settles and the sun is shrouded by a thick, menacing cloud. I feel Winter’s chill nudging me, reminding me he is still present even in a faded form.

And yet as I walk back down the hill, towards the village and my waiting cottage, I sense a message carried by the wind. A message left by the soft rays of the sun and by the running Hares.

We are stepping over the threshold away from Winter and into Spring’s soft, dancing embrace.

Thank you for taking this gentle rest with me. I am humbled you have joined me.

If you would like to travel alongside for longer you are warmly invited to subscribe to receive my weekly free Nature’s Seasonal Letters. I would be honoured to walk this path with you.

For those who wish to journey deeper with me you are invited warmly to join my paid membership, ‘Beneath The Trees.’ Fortnightly personal letters sharing my journey of a slower rooted life and return to nature.

You may also like to read my past writings of this transitional, seasonal time here:

Sending seasonal warmth and love to you all

Clare